


Accounting for Oranges

by GVSpurlock



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, excessive parentheses, gratuitous moralizing, literal citrus, precocious!Henry, unadulterated fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-25 01:29:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/633642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GVSpurlock/pseuds/GVSpurlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Henry had been walking around for several days, enchanted with the idea of magic in Storybrooke and that he had been <i>right</i>. He was also quite pleased to know the identity of one Mr. Gold, whose fairy tale-persona had eluded him for so long. Henry was <i>far</i> too self-satisfied for a Monday and it was only going to get worse before it got better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accounting for Oranges

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Joylee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joylee/gifts).



> Minor spoilers through 2x05, "The Doctor." For the [Once Upon a Time Holiday Exchange](http://ouat-exchange.livejournal.com/).

Henry had been walking around for several days, enchanted with the idea of magic in Storybrooke and that he had been _right_. He was also quite pleased to know the identity of one Mr. Gold, whose fairy tale-persona had eluded him for so long. Henry was _far_ too self-satisfied for a Monday and it was only going to get worse before it got better.

 

* * *

 

The Prince was wandering around doing princely things, deigning to listen to the underlings who interrupted his walk with petty problems in petty voices.

At least, Rumpelstiltskin imagined that their voices were petty. Voices, on the whole, were quite obnoxious, especially when one was “on a mission,” as it were. 

(Perhaps Ursula, sea-bitch that she was, had the right idea; steal _all_ the voices! Now there was a dastardly plan in search of a perpetrator. Not him, though. For one, it was far too unoriginal. For two, well, he was attempting to be good. Do better. Make less mischief? Make less visible mischief. There we are.)

So, a mission, yes. The Prince was obviously on a mission, and that mission would surely end at the pawn shop with the ringing of the entrance bell and…  there it was.

“Mr. Gold?”

Let him wait. Just a moment. Power, it’s always about power.

“Rumpelstiltskin?”

Oh, now that was interesting. Use the old name, the true name. There’s power in names, he knows it, the Prince knows it, Henry, dear boy, almost knows it.

“ _Prince Charming_. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

The nickname produced the expected blush, but the shepherd-royal seemed unconcerned with the hectic flush that swept over his face and neck (and chest. Probably. The fairest ones always blushed all the way down.). The Prince fiddled with his posh leather gloves as he worked up the courage to deliver the speech he had obviously polished until it shone with all the wit (what wit? Well, he _did_ get Snow White, of all people, to marry him, so surely the unfortunate boy had some convincing rhetoric at his disposal. On the other hand, “I will always find you?” Pure romantic rubbish, no cleverness in that particular bon mot.) he had to muster.

Rumpelstiltskin called on the veneer of gentility (humanity), the veneer perfected in the guise of Mr. Gold, respectable businessman. Soft, gleaming hair, bespoke tailoring, indulgent smile. Something eased in David/Charming’s mien as the Mr. Gold persona slipped into place. 

(More fool him. Tigers and stripes and leopard and spots and scorpions and stings… the Frog Prince should be more careful before they all drown.)

The speech was all fire and brimstone and (not so) thinly veiled threats of reprisal if Rumpelstiltskin so much as thought about engaging in his usual mischief, etc. etc. ad nauseum. It was all very passionately delivered in defense of his newly-discovered grandson and rediscovered identity. The princely persona sat uneasily on David Nolan, the man who abandoned the great love of his life in jail, but a glimmer of the irrepressible hero peeked through all the same. 

“David Nolan was not a particularly good man,” he commented idly, interrupting a plea to Do Something About Regina, a laughably silly request. Teachers were supposed to encourage their students, not lock them up in overtly public jail cells. The reverse was also true, but Regina had never mastered that particular lesson.

Charming shut up for a beautiful moment, before opening his occasionally stupid mouth again: “What does loyalty mean to you, Rumpelstiltskin?”

The earnestness in his voice was painful enough for Rumpelstiltskin to hold up a hand to silence him, but the younger man continued, “What about honor? What about love? All are virtues, and love, of course, chief among them, but when they conflict… even a good man struggles to make the right choices.”

The struggle was apparent in his open, handsome face, in two discarded Valentines, in the arms of an enchanted windmill, and the arms of his One True Love.

Why he chose to confide in this simple man with his simple love and his simple mind, he would never know, but the next words out of his mouth were: “She’s not dead. I thought she was dead, but she wasn’t.”

He could see the recollection of their aborted swordfight flicker across the Prince’s face as clearly as if he’d spoken aloud. A look of profound sympathy followed. Yes, romantic sap indeed. He’d chosen quite well in impromptu confidante, if such things were entirely necessary (apparently they were, since mind and mouth and matter sometimes separated themselves from sense).

“Isn’t that good news?” asked Charming, somewhat inanely.

Rumpelstiltskin favored him with a withering look that worked quite nicely, if the collapse of the younger man’s hopeful features was any indication.

There was profound silence, interrupted by the slightly-off ticking of the Ketterer clock he had so carefully (apparently not carefully enough) restored. 

Henry, of course, chose that moment to burst gleefully into the shop. He looked from his grandfather to Rumpelstiltskin, evaluated the situation quite carefully, and with all the enthusiasm of his ten years (not nearly enough to trample such an ebullient spirit. Oh, how he dreaded the day when the boy met his eyes and no longer saw the best in him.), invited Rumpelstiltskin to dinner.

The adults’ protests were overridden by the irresistible pout of a practiced charmer, and that is how Rumpelstiltskin, _the Dark One_ , ended up seated in the pleasingly situated dining room at the Nolan house. They ordered takeout from Granny’s Diner (bagged and offered up with a disapproving sniff by the woman herself), though Henry offered to cook. (“Honestly, I can make Kraft Dinner! It’s orange and has peas and all the food groups and, really, Grandpa, I won’t set your kitchen on fire. Yes, I know you had bad luck with your Toaster Streudels, but I can boil water.”)

After the awkward meal was consumed (saved from excruciating status by the incessant chatter and questions of the ever-curious Henry Mills), a profoundly domestic scene commenced, one so saccharine, a bit of a cavity was surely begun at that moment. 

Rumpelstiltskin missed Baelfire every other moment of the day (and Belle in the moments in between; yearning and mischief, his twin callings in life), but never more profoundly in the hour that followed while Henry did his homework over steaming hot chocolate, Charming scrubbed the dishes with rather more vigor than was required, and snow wafted down gently, in sharp contrast to the Nor’easter that had so viciously dumped snow on them earlier in the week. He stood behind Henry for a moment, pointing out an arithmetic error that would have led to a catastrophic number of oranges for Joan and John. 

“Thank you for your very kind invitation, young Henry. Your company was delightful.” He dared to ruffle the boy’s hair and was rewarded with an enormous, authentic grin.

“You should come for Christmas dinner! We’ll have eggnog and carols and ham and apple cider and you can see the model train that Grandpa thinks he hid in the closet and build a snow man.” 

“That was a shockingly long sentence, Henry,” Charming said gently, “And Mr. Gold may have plans.”

If you looked up the word “crafty” in the dictionary, Henry’s face at that precise moment would certainly have resided there. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” the boy promised, thinking of the lonely, lovely librarian, with an air of melancholy that matched Mr. Gold’s own. 

 

* * *

 

Far, _far_ too pleased with himself, indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from the lovely [Joylee](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Joylee/): What with the whole shepherd to prince thing, Charming's life hasn't lent itself to having a buddy. But he developing just that with Gold. Can you invite the Dark One over to have a beer and watch the game? (Bonus karma if Henry joins in the fun.)


End file.
